


together leave our footprints

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aaryl, Canon Queer Character, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Drabbles, Friendship, Gen, Homophobic Language, Introspection, M/M, Slow Burn, Smoking, Vignettes, daaron, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of short moments between daryl and aaron during season five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cat

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from "Closed Hand Full of Friends" by Foy Vance. Chapter title self-explanatory because I give up.

Back before, when there was more to who a person was than their particular array of survival skills, and even before he'd discarded most of his worldly possessions to go work in Africa, Aaron had been a cat person. Now, a couple of days have passed on the road alone with Daryl, and Aaron can't help but keep comparing Daryl to a rescue cat in his head. He's skittish and ornery and _fierce_  like a cat. He eats like a cat who's been living off of garbage for weeks, practically unhinges his jaw and shovels the food in like he thinks someone might come take it away if he doesn't hurry. Eric had called him withdrawn, and that's part of it, but upon observation Aaron thinks it's more than that. It seems like Daryl is genuinely introverted, preferring to go on hours-long hunts with his crossbow for company even though he's clearly welcomed back every time by the other members of his group. But beyond just that, he seems to carry a sadness, a tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw, which reminds Aaron of the days he'd watched the group, of Daryl looking after everyone else's needs and then slinking off into the woods to burn himself with a cigarette. He just seems so obviously ill at ease so much of the time that Aaron has the overwhelming instinct to reach out and reassure him with touch- just something casual, a pat on the shoulder or something. But he can tell that Daryl is a long way from trusting his gay apocalypse work colleague enough to even let him get close, let alone actually _touch_ him. So Aaron just runs his mouth in his usual way, and Daryl's not particularly forthcoming with his responses, but he also doesn't really seem to mind. When it comes to rehabilitating strays, the key is patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first one is super short. I would love to hear any thoughts anyone has about whether the voice sounds right, prompts you'd like to see written, etc. Thanks for reading.


	2. morton's fork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think there are still some good people left," Aaron says.
> 
> "The last good person I knew said the same thing to me, and she's dead now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work title from Foy Vance's "Closed Hand Full of Friends". Chapter title from the song "Morton's Fork" by Typhoon:
> 
> It turns out that we are/  
> Shit out of luck/  
> There are things in the woods that will prey/  
> On the things that you love
> 
> If you're interested, check out the song and the definition of a Morton's Fork on Wikipedia. The thematic connections to the show are pretty compelling imo.

  
The night after they find the girl tied to the tree, Daryl catches a squirrel and cooks it over a fire. Neither of them are very hungry, and once they've finished and stomped out the light Aaron offers to take first watch.

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried," he says.

"Yeah," Daryl says, but he doesn't move to lie down. Aaron is thrown, so he just watches and waits to see if anything further will be forthcoming.

After a minute or so his mouth starts running again. "It's weird, you know? I keep thinking I've gotten used to it. I keep thinking I've seen the worst possible thing, every day for years now. And then something like that... today... I just can't stop thinking about it. Somebody carved that letter into her head and left her for dead. At least one human being, not a roamer, maybe a couple of people. A team. They thought about it and they did it. They marked her so whoever came by would _know_  they had done it."

Usually talking things out helps him feel better about them, but right now he feels like he's getting more and more worked up. He's staring into the dark woods behind them, not focusing on anything in particular, and then out of the corner of his eye he sees Daryl reach out. He turns to see the pack of cigarettes Daryl's offering.

"You know what? Sure." he says after a moment's deliberation. "If I live long enough to get cancer it'll be a miracle."

Daryl offers him the lighter, but his hands are shaking a little and after he tries and fails the third time the lighter is unceremoniously grabbed back and his smoke lit for him like Lauren Bacall or something. Luckily he manages to keep that particular train of thought to himself. Instead of speaking he breathes in slowly, relishing the taste and the distraction. It must be ten years since the last time he'd smoked, probably in high school in the parking lot behind the band room, a form of pseudo-rebellion that probably would have upset his mom less than his coming-out had a few years later. Even after the first drag he starts to feel calmer.

"Thanks," he says, and is surprised when Daryl actually answers instead of grunting in acknowledgement.

"People just keep gettin' worse. You'll drive yourself crazy tryin' to understand it. The good people're all dead. There's some like us left, in-between folks, but we're dyin' out, and after us it'll just be dead things and evil goddamn cocksuckers who inherit the earth. No offense," Daryl says, cutting his eyes at Aaron warily as he stubs his own cigarette out in the dirt.

"What?" Aaron says, confused for a couple seconds until he realizes that Daryl is apologizing to him for using a slur. "Oh, none taken. I don't take references to oral sex that personally," he says without thinking, and then immediately worries he's crossed Daryl's gayness tolerance threshold. Daryl just smirks, though, so he keeps talking.

"I think there are still some good people left," Aaron says.

"The last good person I knew said the same thing to me, and she's dead now."

"I mean, to qualify, I think you're right. It's as good as having a target on your back. Part of me can't believe Eric has made it this far, to be honest with you."

He hadn't known he was going to say that until it was already out, and now he has the ridiculous urge to knock on wood. It's true, though. Aaron had been accepted into Alexandria because of his charity work, yes, same as Eric, but that was a classic case of good works. His heart was still selfish and flawed in a lot of ways. On the other hand Eric was the same person from surface to core, so good that it made him seem terribly fragile. For all he'd grown up in the backwoods and known his way around the swamps and rainforests of Nigeria better than a city kid like Aaron ever could, it was an unpleasant fact that Aaron would probably be the one to outlive his partner. He knew how to be selfish when he had to.

"Can I ask about her?" Daryl just shrugs.

"What was her name?"

"Beth. Beth Greene, Maggie's baby sister."

Aaron turns that over in his head, trying to figure out the best way to put his next question.

"So... what was she to you?"

"Nothin'. I dunno. She wadn't nothin' to me more'n anybody else. It's just, we were on the road together when everybody got split up after the prison, it was just us for a while. And she was good, you know? God-fearin' and good with the baby, always singin' lullabies and things. And she was _young_. Can't have been nineteen yet. But she got taken 'cause a me, and them folks who took her shot her in the head."

"I'm sorry," Aaron says. It feels more than inadequate, but for once the stream of words in his head has dried up. Nothing they could say would really make things any better.

"You go on ahead and sleep," Daryl says after another little while. "I got first watch."

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, feedback and suggestions for future drabbles are welcome. Thanks for reading!


	3. as my own fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And we're a team, right? You've gotta trust me."
> 
> "Trust you more now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is tagged to 5x16, the finale. Work title continues to be from "Closed Hand Full of Friends" by Foy Vance. Chapter title from "Prosthetic Love" by Typhoon. This song is so good, go listen to it. 
> 
> I have nothing left to lose/ I'll get it back through you. I'll take your offer/  
> Each time I wake I'm still alive/ Outlived my expiration date- imagine my surprise  
> Of everyone I ever knew/ I've gotten used to you/I've grown attached to you being here  
> Of everyone I ever knew/ I've come to count on you/ as my own fingers

It's 50 miles back to Alexandria, and almost ten to where they'd left the bike and the car. Daryl's pretty sure he knows who this Morgan is, remembers Rick describing his first days awake, way back before the Atlanta group, and how he'd run into the same guy again a year or so later, on a run in King County with Michonne and Carl before they'd lost the prison. To hear them tell it, the guy'd lost his mind when his son died, and was holed up alone in some building surrounded with booby traps. For a minute or two, Daryl considers whether he might have been the one to rig that truck setup too, but he can't figure a reason why someone would go to all that trouble just to risk getting himself bit bailing them out in the end. It's that same reasoning which makes him think Morgan is who he says he is. Three states is a long way for a lone man to follow a map just to find Rick and lie to him. And if this is Morgan, then the map's proof that Rick trusts him. And Daryl trusts Rick.

Even if he is legit, though, you can tell this guy's been on the road too long. He's too quiet, even by Daryl's standards. He seems way too calm, almost smiling at god only knows what, no lingering jitters from the near-death experience of the previous hour, and he walks a ways a head of them even though he doesn't know the way. They've only been walking for ten minutes in blissful silence when Daryl finally gets fed up with Aaron looking at him every other minute, opening and closing his mouth like some dumb goldfish. 

"Look, man. Whatever you're gonna say, just say it."

"I just. Hmm." Aaron makes a face. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What did I just say?"

"Right. Yeah. I guess I'm just wondering what the hell that was back there?"

At first Daryl assumes Aaron's referring to the question which he himself has been turning over in his head without coming to a satisfactory conclusion, which is how in the ever-loving fuck he hadn't called that for a trap from a mile away. At the very least he knows better than to open a door- any door- without banging on something and waiting to make sure there aren't a shit ton of walkers lurking behind it. He thinks maybe he was tired of arguing about the guy in the poncho. Something felt really goddamn weird about finding himself in an argument where he was on the side of optimism and giving folks the benefit of the doubt. If Beth could see him now... his train of thought is cut off by Aaron breaking in to clarify:

"I mean, how did we get from the wait it out plan to you ten minutes later offering to go on some kamikaze mission so I can get back to Alexandria and tell your people... what, exactly? It was only like two days ago that you almost put an arrow in my head because you thought I was following you, and now today you're Jack Dawson?"

"What?"

"Titanic? Nothing? Come on, man. What was that?"

It was funny. After so long, the sound of a horde of hungry things coming for him wasn't scary anymore. It was familiar. There was a feeling like something sliding into place, like a bike shifting into gear, and the noise in his head went quiet. It wasn't fun exactly, but it felt natural. It came easy. It must be two some years now of waiting for the one fix he won't be able to weasel out of. In his head his Death was like a person almost, a cartoon skeleton, and an inevitability. Every day he half expected to meet it, and no part of him expected to avoid it forever. On the other hand, he'd been close as hell to it more times than he could count off the top of his head and gotten away. It was some combination of dumb luck and lots of practice. So mostly what he'd thought in the car was that if he went first, Aaron would have a better chance of making it out, and it was 50/50 whether Daryl would figure a way to get by a few dozen walkers on his own. If he couldn't, well, his Death had been a long time waiting. 

It didn't really have anything to do with Aaron and how long they had or hadn't known each other. He would have made the same call with most anyone, excepting maybe one of his group- Rick or Carol or Michonne or somebody- who he knew could hold their own as well as he could. None of the Alexandrians were anywhere close. Even if it had been Carl or even someone like Gabriel, who he could honestly take or leave, it just made more sense for him to go first. Nothing personal. 

It wasn't anything to do with hurt feelings or him wanting to die or anything like that, either, which he could tell Aaron was thinking. He knew he was part of the group, and he liked belonging to them, and he liked having a purpose now on this whole recruiting business. But if they had to do without him, they were in a better position to adapt now, behind walls with plenty to eat and lots of guns and ammo, than when they'd been out on the road and weak and desperate. The timing had sorta felt right. Aaron on the other hand had somebody waiting at home. His family was intact, and he was a good person and an asset to both the Alexandrians and Daryl's group. And he wouldn't have been a whole lot of help anyway. That part is probably the easiest to explain. 

"Some help you woulda been, swingin' that damn license plate around. Shoot. It wadn't really about you. Like I told you, ain't nobody's fault. I just figure, I'm faster'n you, I'da prolly made it out. Done it before. And if not, well, there's worse things can happen nowadays than dyin'."

To his credit, Aaron doesn't ask for examples. 

"Well, I appreciate it. But I don't want you thinking I'm a liability. I may not be a sharpshooter or anything, but I've been ranging on my own for a while now. I do okay. And we're a team, right? You've gotta trust me."

Daryl looks at him. "Trust you more now," he says, truthfully, and shrugs.

Aaron grins. "Good. Shake on it?" 

Daryl spits on his palm first, mostly just to see how Aaron will react, but Aaron just follows suit and then shakes.

Smirking, Daryl jerks his head at the horizon. The sun's almost set. 

"Idn't that up there the car? Not long now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all!! Come and talk to me about Daryl and about this pairing and this show. I thought writing a few short things would help me to move on but instead I have fallen further down this trash hole. I'm like Sasha laying with those walkers tbh. Anyway, I got Daryl's POV about the car from an interview with Norman Reedus, who didn't read the scene as a suicide mission a la Tyrese in season 4, but rather as a judgment call. I liked that interpretation a lot, I thought it was very in character. At this point I don't see them as being in love or even pre-romantic at all. It's more about the way their personalities interact and the potential being built up over time through shared experiences. Anyway, comment if you have any thoughts or if you can help me speculate a plot so I can continue past the finale haha!! Thanks for reading.


	4. sun done run out of rays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I keep having to remember that this is, like, just another Tuesday for you guys. We must seem so naive."
> 
> "I mean. It don't really get easier, losin' people."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry 4 the wait."  
> \- Lil Wayne
> 
> Ok but really, I am sorry it's been two months. I got a job three days after the last chapter, and I have been sitting on this for a while. Finally happy enough with it to say "fuck it" and hit post. Thanks to anybody who's still reading.
> 
> P.S. Can we talk about that Comic Con trailer?? 
> 
> Chapter title from "Graves" by Whiskey Shivers. Shout out to the 8tracks Daryl Dixon mix which included that song and whose name I have since forgotten. Work title still from "Closed Hand Full of Friends."

They're only a block away or so when they hear the shot and run towards the sound, not knowing what to expect. Whatever danger he had been thinking of in that ten seconds of anticipation, it was not this tableau of atrocity. Aaron doesn't even know where to look, at first. It's so quiet, no one's said anything since Morgan called Rick out, no one seems to be moving. The corpses aren't moving, and neither are the living people. There are three bodies on the ground. Rick and Deanna are covered in blood, Deanna still rocking back and forth, keening, but barely audibly, like she's screamed her voice away. There's a samurai sword on the ground covered in blood. Rick just shot Pete in the head the same way Aaron had to shoot Buttons just a couple days ago. Pete is dead. Reg is dead. Who is that other body?

Aaron can't tell if it's taken him just seconds to think all these things or if hours have passed. He turns instinctively, looking past the standoff between Rick and Morgan, and meets Daryl's eyes. He sees the same questions his blood is pumping reflected back there, no answers in sight. _What the fuck did we miss?_ and _W_ _hat now?_ Somehow it's a little better to be two confused people here, a bit less like he's a single soul trapped in some limbo or nightmare, and that leads him to step forward a bit and see that the third body is just a roamer. Which is a relief for a second, and only on a much lower frequency kind of a fucked up thing to be relieved about. That used to be someone's neighbor, too, but the Aaron who knew and cared about stuff like that is further and further away every second.

All at once it hits him. “Eric," he says, heart in his throat. "Where's Eric?" He scans the crowd but none of them are any use, all crying or trembling with shock.

"Go check the house," Daryl says under his breath. "I got this." Aaron doesn't need to be told twice, barely registering Daryl stepping forward to take the gun from Rick, Carol patting Deanna's shoulder, Michonne picking up the sword and wiping it off on her sheriff's uniform.

\----

His knife is still in his hand, and he runs down the silent, well-lit neighborhood street to their door, resists the urge to scream Eric's name, bangs on the door a couple times to make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting, and it has to be a good sign that the lights are on, right?

Inside, the light at the end of the hallway is on, and there's music playing, and no horrible dead hissing or anything, so he chances a half-shouted "Eric! Where are you?"

No one answers. It takes an eternity to get down the hallway to the bedroom door, cracked open a few inches, and he swings the door open quickly only to see that the bedside lamp is on, and Eric is asleep, snoring lightly with some novel laying open on his chest.

Aaron's so relieved he thinks he might puke. He walks over, no longer trying to be stealthy, and Eric stirs and opens his eyes. "Baby! I wasn't expecting you home till tomorrow," he says, rubbing his eyes and leaning forward for a kiss. Aaron indulges for a second before pulling back.

"Babe. You scared me half to death."

"I scared you? I've been here in suburban paradise, you're the one trekking around the Virginia wilderness looking for strays for days on end. You don't call, you don't write..."

"Eric. Reg is dead. Reg and Pete are dead. Rick shot Pete in the head. Pete's dead."

Eric sits up in a hurry. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about, we got back fifteen minutes ago, and walked in on a town meeting in Deanna's front yard with literally every other adult in attendance except you, and three bodies on the floor! What the hell happened?"

"Rick  _killed_ Pete?"

"Yes! In front of his wife and the mayor and everything! You should have seen him, he looked like Rambo on crack! What is this secret nighttime meeting shit? Why weren't you there?"

"I'm sorry, I'm having trouble processing what you're telling me. Rick _shot_  Pete? I thought they took his gun yesterday."

"Okay, so now we're getting somewhere! What happened yesterday? Start at the beginning."

"I mean, I wasn't there, but I heard about it from Mrs. Neidermeyer. She was just so excited to talk about something besides pasta... apparently Rick and Pete had a fight yesterday afternoon, and Rick was saying some crazy shit and swinging the gun around."

  
"A fight about what? And since when are people carrying guns inside the gates?"

  
"I don't know. Like I said, I wasn't there, but it seemed like just typical alpha male stuff, you know? Fighting over Jessie. I figured he must have stolen the gun from the armory or something. Anyway, Michonne knocked him out and took it."

"Well, either he got it back or he had more than one. He just shot Pete right in the head like a roamer."

"I don't know about that guy. Or any of their group, the more I think about it. I mean, obviously they're survivors, but some of them seem more than a little... I don't know. Things have been weird around here lately, don't you think?"

"Everyone's a little something nowadays. The weird ones are the guys who've been inside the whole time and missed the memo about the apocalypse. Rick, though, let's just say I'm glad you weren't there. The whole thing had this kind of Columbine vibe to it."

"No, I mean it. Things have been getting more and more off, even more since you've been gone. Everyone's on edge. It was tiring me out, so I just plead the broken ankle excuse so I could stay home and not hear about it. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if maybe we were wrong to bring them in."

"We had to, Eric. They saved your life, remember? They're good people, mostly."

"What about Aiden, though? And that young kid, Noah?"

"What about them? Has Aiden been causing trouble again?"

"Aaron- Aiden's dead. They went on a run to get some part for the electrical grid the first day y'all were gone, and only half the group came back. Tara, you know the lesbian from Rick's group? Really nice girl, and she's in a coma. Aiden didn't come back, and neither did Noah, and no one can get their story straight on how that happened."

"So... you're saying Deanna's husband and son are both dead? In the last week?"

"It doesn't feel real, does it?"

"I gotta get back out there," Aaron says after a pause. This is way too much to process. He needs to be doing something, helping somehow. He can't sit still or he will lose it.

"Okay, baby. Love you."

"Love you too. You have a knife in here, right?" Eric looks at him like he's crazy.

"There was at least one roamer _inside_ the gate tonight. Keep a knife by the bed and I'm gonna lock the doors and take a key. Here, actually, you take this one and I'll grab one from the kitchen."

"Aaron." Eric kisses him again and then presses their foreheads together. "I really hope you're being paranoid. I don't know about any of this. Just be careful, okay? And I'll see you for breakfast."

Aaron kisses his forehead, pats the knife on the bedside table for good measure, and locks the bedroom door behind him. When he gets onto the porch, he sees that the night is in that in-between place before the sunrise, morning threatening to come despite every indication that the world is no longer spinning the same.

By the time he catches up to anybody, he finds that the courtyard area has been hosed down, the bodies removed. Pete's is being buried next to the others by the fence. Jessie is watching as Abraham and Ron dig the hole, and none of them are crying. Aaron feels like he's intruding, and turns towards Deanna's house. He sees Michonne walking by, with the sword strapped to her back again like it had been when he'd met her. He asks her about Reg's grave, and she tells him there's a wake being planned at Deanna's house for him. Aaron doesn't ask who stabbed him through the skull to keep him from turning, or what they're going to use for a closed casket. Eric will probably make some casserole and they can all keep pretending this is Desperate Housewives and not the seventh circle of hell.

This week has had a higher death toll than the entire history of Alexandria up till now. When he thinks about the fact that this probably seems par for the course to Michonne and the rest of them he can't meet her eyes and begs off. She nods and strides off, looking more intimidating than ever. Aaron hopes that Eric is wrong, that the group isn't turning against them, because Alexandria will not stand a fucking chance against them.

  
\---\---

The sun goes down, finally, after what's seemed like the longest day in a long time- maybe the longest day since Before. Aaron's home alone, while Eric is somewhere helping make arrangements for the funeral. Aaron had done what he could all day, wanting to help, but everything has been so off-kilter and he was starting to feel like he was going to pull a Rick if he didn't get away from everyone for a bit. He's stress cleaning the kitchen, washing the stainless steel knives one by one and returning them to the knife block as if they aren't going to be covered in decomposing organs and fluids by the end of the week, when he hears a whistle. If he didn't know better he might mistake it for a bird, but as is he knows who's calling. He stops the water and crosses the room to open the front door. 

Daryl pauses in the doorway, looks down at the steak knife Aaron's still holding, and gives him a look.  Aaron tries to come up with words for a second, and then just shrugs and puts it down on the table. 

"Close the door." Daryl does, and Aaron waits for him to say something. He's gotten used to Daryl's rhythms, and there's no use trying to rush him, but not having anything to do with his hands is reminding him that he's not doing anything, two people died last night and he hasn't done anything about it, what are they going to  _do_? He feels trapped, suddenly, and terrified and gutless and paralyzed, and just as Daryl pipes up-

"How you holding up?" 

Aaron realizes he's vibrating. "Like shit," he says. "I just keep thinking. We're all so shaken up, here. We've been so sheltered, even me and Eric never saw anything like this on the road. We never lost this many people this close together. And I keep having to remember that this is, like, just another Tuesday for you guys. We must seem so naive."

"I mean. It don't really get easier, losin' people."

"I don't know if I find that comforting or not. I guess it shouldn't be easy. But this is more than just hard. It seems impossible. I don't see how we- where do we go from here? Who's in charge? How long do we have left here before everything's fucked beyond repair? Like, literally, in terms of roamers getting inside the fences, but also- how's Deanna supposed to lead us when she just lost basically her entire family this week? Is Rick supposed to fill the power vacuum?"

Daryl makes a noise at that. "Even the ones who're still living- it ain't never the same. Y'all don't know Rick. Hell, we don't hardly know him some days. It's too quiet here. There's too many choices. All of a sudden..." He trails off. 

The exhaustion of the past three days suddenly hits Aaron, and he has to sit down. He rests his head in his hands, and Daryl grunts and makes as if to leave. 

"You don't have to go," Aaron says through his fingers. "I'm never gonna fall asleep like this anyway. Keep expecting to wake up in that car again, or worse. Who knows what fresh hell tomorrow will bring. As long as I stay awake it's still today." 

"C'mon, now, even I took a nap since we got back."

"Really?"

Daryl shrugs. "Carol made me. You've been up for goin' on three days. You're no use to anybody. Just go sleep some. I've got my bow. I can keep watch till Eric gets home. Anyway, I could use a place to hide out."

Aaron wants to ask who Daryl is hiding from, whether he's talked things over with his group, what he thinks Rick and the rest of them are going to do. But his body apparently trusts Daryl's presence enough to ease off on the adrenaline which has been keeping him running, and suddenly it's all he can do to drag his body out of the chair. 

"Okay. Fine. Three hours, all right? And you'd better wake me up if anything happens."

Daryl grunts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, back when I was unemployed/ a full time fic writer, I was going to try to defy my lazy dilettante nature and make this a real AU with actual plot and such. Now I'm thinking I'm gonna just wait for the new season and keep the vignettes/ missed scenes thing going. Thoughts? Thanks so much to everyone who's read, left comments, kudos, etc. xxxxx


End file.
